


Springtime of Youth

by HazelBeka



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Discord: Umino Hours, Fluff, Heart Flower AU, M/M, Magical Realism, a soulmate au where you choose your own soulmate, how does one write Gai?, pure sappy romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:21:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24218053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HazelBeka/pseuds/HazelBeka
Summary: It was spring in Konoha, and the shinobi were in bloom.
Relationships: Maito Gai | Might Guy/Umino Iruka
Comments: 20
Kudos: 167
Collections: The Umino Hours Quarantine Boredom Buster





	Springtime of Youth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kalira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalira/gifts).



> The Heart Flowers AU belongs to Kalira. It's basically a super cute 'choose your own soulmate' au with a dash of magical realism. I've adapted it for my own purposes but for the original au, and for other ships using it, check out Kalira's works!

It was spring in Konoha, and the shinobi were in bloom.

Iruka could feel it under his skin. It was the end of a long day teaching, and he had an evening full of marking ahead of him. He had finished straightening up the classroom, tired and ready for a break, and he lingered by the window, letting the sunlight warm his face. There was a tingling sensation in his fingers, and he smiled.

He brought his hands together, palm to palm, and pushed his chakra gently to the surface. The tingling increased, and then a tickling, and he opened his hands, cupping them together. Between them, his chakra blossomed into strands of tiny purple flowers that hung down over his fingers and climbed along his wrists. Wisteria. More of it this year than he’d seen before. He knew exactly why that was, and he felt a warmth in his cheeks that had nothing to do with the April sunshine.

Behind him, there were footsteps in the corridor, and Iruka hurriedly closed his hands again, the flowers fading back into pure chakra and vanishing. Only their scent still lingered, overpowering the smells of chalk dust and floor polish.

A knock came at the door, and Iruka called out an invitation as he stepped away from the window. The door opened, and Gai stepped inside.

“You’re back!” Iruka crossed the room, suddenly feeling less tired. “I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.”

Gai cupped his cheek and kissed him, lightly but lingering.

“I challenged my students to make it back in two days instead of three,” he said. “Purely for their own education, of course. They have to push themselves to find their limits.”

“It wasn’t because you missed me then?” Iruka asked, and Gai kissed him again.

“Whatever makes you think that?” he asked.

The tingles in Iruka’s fingers spread up his arms as his chakra reacted to his emotions. Oh yes, he knew why he was blooming so brightly this year.

“I still have to finish our mission report,” Gai said, “but maybe later I can take you to dinner?”

“I have marking to do,” Iruka said, pulling a face. “A whole pile of tests I’ve been putting off. But you could still come over.” He felt his face heat, realising how unappealing that must sound. “I mean, wow, that would be the most boring date ever. Never mind. I could do tomorrow.”

Gai laughed and rested a hand on Iruka’s arm. Could he feel how Iruka’s chakra reacted to him? The spot felt warm, although Gai’s hand was cool. Iruka worried suddenly that he was too obvious. Something must be giving him away. He thought he could still smell a hint of wisteria. Did Gai know? Was Iruka ready to tell him?

“I haven’t seen you for a week, Iruka,” Gai said. “If the only way I can see you tonight is to curl up with you on the couch while you mark papers, then there’s no other way I’d rather spend my evening.”

Every time Iruka thought he’d got used to Gai’s sincerity, it gave him butterflies all over again. He didn’t doubt that Gai meant every word. Out of everywhere he could be tonight and everything he could do, he wanted to spend it on Iruka’s couch doing nothing just because they’d spent a week apart. Iruka hadn’t thought he was a romantic before he’d met Gai. Now he knew that he simply hadn’t met anyone who’d done romance the right way before Gai.

“I’d really like that,” he said. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

Gai pulled him into a gentle hug, and Iruka smelt the forest on him: the earthy freshness of his route home. He turned his face into Gai’s neck and breathed it in.

“I’ll see you later then,” Gai said as he pulled back. “I’ll bring food.”

“You’re the best.”

Gai winked at him before he left. “What are boyfriends for?”

  


* * *

  


Iruka had known Gai for a long time, but it had only been in the last year that they’d fallen for each other. Technically, they’d been at the Academy together, though Gai had been three years older than him so they hadn’t been friends. Iruka had known who he was though. Everyone had known Gai: he was too loud and boisterous to fly under the radar, not that he’d tried.

The first time they’d spoken had been a few years after the kyuubi attack, when Iruka had been a troubled teenager – out of control, he’d admit, looking back now – and Gai had found him early one morning trapping one of the training fields to within an inch of its life.

“You missed a spot,” he’d pointed out cheerfully, and Iruka had almost jumped out of his skin.

He’d whirled around guiltily to find an older boy, on the cusp of becoming a man, watching him with an approval that was so alien that Iruka had stared at him blankly for an embarrassingly long pause before he remembered to speak.

“Uh, thanks?” he said, waiting for the axe to fall.

“It’s refreshing to see a bright young genin practising his skills so early in the day,” Gai said, beaming around at the space Iruka had done his best to turn into a death trap. Or at least death by paint bombs, which were hidden in the trees and rigged with a low-grade explosive tag that would fling them directly at anyone who stepped on the trigger seal hidden in the grass.

“Practising my skills,” Iruka had repeated, tasting the words. No one had ever described his pranks quite like that before. Not even close.

But Gai nodded with an enthusiasm that was downright suspicious. He _had_ to be setting Iruka up as the butt of a joke. There was no other explanation.

“I wouldn’t know the trap was there if I hadn’t seen you lay it down,” Gai said. “Very carefully done. I’ve seen your work before, actually?”

Iruka tensed.

“Oh yeah? Which one?”

“I saw Genma walking around trapped in a barrier seal for half a day last week. It was slightly too big to fit through doorways, although he kept on trying his best.”

Iruka couldn’t help but snicker at the memory, and Gai chuckled too. It seemed genuine. 

“He had it coming,” Iruka said.

He leaned back against one of the trees and regarded Gai anew. He didn’t remember seeing him around the village much since Gai had graduated, but then he’d been so wrapped up in his own pain that the past three years had gone by in a blur. Gai could have bumped into him a thousand times and Iruka wouldn’t have seen him.

It had been a lonely three years. The friends he’d had before had all pulled back after Iruka’s parents had died. They hadn’t known how to handle him, and Iruka hadn’t wanted to be handled anyway. He hadn’t wanted to talk about it but had hated feeling ignored when they didn’t ask him how he was coping. No one could win, let alone him, and he’d struck out at the world, pushing it away in a desperate and misguided attempt to pull it close.

“You want to stay and watch what happens when someone turns up to train?” he asked. He hadn’t planned to say it. It had popped out of his mouth, the first time he could remember in a long while asking someone directly to stay with him. As soon as he said it, he regretted it, tensing himself for the incoming rejection.

But Gai nodded. He didn’t even hesitate. He agreed as readily as if they’d been friends for years and there was nowhere he’d rather be.

That spring was the second year Iruka bloomed. His first year had been lacklustre, a paltry showing of buds, some of which had never flowered. He hadn’t told anyone, hadn’t shown anyone the tiny flowers that sprouted from his palms. Once, he’d looked forwards to his first bloom, had been eager to see what kind of flower he’d be and show it off to his friends, his parents. By the time the wisteria had hung gently over his cupped hands, there hadn’t been anyone left to tell.

To this day, he’d never shown anyone his flowers. It wasn’t taboo these days, the way it used to be, and Iruka’s friends thought he was quaint and romantic for keeping them hidden. You could only give your flowers away to one person, of course, traditionally when getting engaged, and the older generations still thought it improper for an unmarried shinobi to show their blooms to anyone, but it wasn’t unusual among couples and friends of Iruka’s age. Touching someone else’s flowers was an intimacy deeper than sex. It was bearing your heart to someone and trusting them not to rip it out at the root. Iruka had never trusted anyone that much. Had often doubted that he ever would.

But feelings, like the seasons, could change.

  


* * *

  


True to his word, Gai brought food that evening, although it wasn’t the takeout Iruka had expected. Instead he’d brought a bag of groceries and took up residence in the kitchen, humming as he made curry. Iruka’s lounge and kitchen were open plan, so although he was marking and Gai was chopping vegetables, he could read aloud some of the more amusing answers on the history test he was grading.

“Apparently,” he informed Gai, “we’ve had five hokages so far.”

“Interesting,” Gai murmured. “Who’s the extra one?”

“Naruto,” Iruka said. “It’s his test. I might give him the mark for being aspirational.”

Iruka put the paper aside and stretched. His vision was starting to blur from trying to interpret scribbly handwriting for too long. He tugged out his hair tie and let his hair fall around his face, massaging his scalp before a headache could set in.

“I need a break,” he said, getting up and wandering over to the kitchen. “Can I help with anything?”

“Everything’s under control,” Gai said. He picked up a sweet potato and started peeling it deftly with a paring knife. “You should relax and let me take care of you.”

Iruka leaned against the counter beside him.

“You’re the one who just got back from a mission.”

“A genin mission,” Gai said. “Hardly the most taxing.”

“Even though you raced your students all the way home?”

Gai flashed him a grin.

“They’re all excellent young shinobi but they’re still no match for me. I have plenty of energy left.”

“Can you lend me some?”

Iruka leaned his head on Gai’s shoulder and felt Gai press a kiss to his temple.

“If I could,” he said, “I would. Maybe after dinner I can help you mark some of your tests.”

“Oh God, you really don’t want to do that.”

“It would be quite interesting to see how the children of Konoha are getting on in their education,” Gai said. “Especially the students I hear so much about.”

Coming from anyone else, Iruka would have taken that to mean he talked about his students way too much. But Gai always meant everything he said. He really would mark a pile of boring tests just to help Iruka relax. Iruka felt a sudden rush of love. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve a partner like Gai, but he knew this was a relationship he wanted to last for a long, long time.

“I love you,” he said into Gai’s shoulder. “I really do. You’re so good to me.”

Gai put down the knife and the sweet potato, wiped his hands conscientiously on a tea towel, and then turned properly to face Iruka, who lifted his head.

“Iruka, you are the most precious person in my life,” he said, cupping Iruka’s cheek with one hand. Iruka leaned into it. It was warm, the fingers rough and slightly calloused but always gentle. “You bring me joy every day simply by allowing me to stay by your side.”

“I don’t just allow it,” Iruka said. “I actively encourage it. It’s my favourite place for you to be.”

Gai stared at him with something like wonder, as though Iruka was the amazing one in this relationship. As far as Iruka was concerned, that couldn’t be further from the truth. He was ordinary in as many ways as Gai was extraordinary.

“After dinner,” Gai said, “could I show you something, Iruka?”

“Of course. What is it?”

Gai kissed him on the forehead and turned back to the food, a small smile on his lips.

“Wait and see,” he said.

  


* * *

  


Whatever Gai wanted to show him was, it turned out, outside. Gai pulled his jacket on and then held Iruka’s up for him to put his arms into, helping him into it in a way that might have been patronising if anyone else tried it, but from Gai it was a charming gesture of chivalry.

“We’re not going far,” Gai assured him as they stepped outside. The sun had long set and the only light came from the streetlights below. “But it’s chilly at night. Let me know if you get too cold.”

“I’ll be fine.”

They made their way to the stairwell, and Iruka was thrown as Gai started walking up the stairs rather than down.

“Where on earth are we going?” he asked, following Gai up. “There’s nothing up here. We’re not visiting someone, are we?”

“No, nothing like that,” Gai assured him. “Trust me.”

Iruka did trust him, so he didn’t ask any more questions but he was intrigued and more than a little bewildered. They passed another two floors of flats and then climbed the final flight of steps and emerged onto the roof.

It was a nice roof, as these things went. The designers hadn’t put much thought into the space but it was open for use by the residents and there were tubs of earth sprouting small plants along one side, and in the darkness Iruka could just make out a hopscotch drawn in chalk that some of the children must have made recently, a little faded but untouched by rain. Gai led the way over to the edge of the roof near some improvised flowerbeds where tulips were blooming.

“What are we doing up here?” Iruka asked.

It was very dark up here above the lights of the street. The sky was clear, and there were crisp constellations of stars surrounding the sliver of moon. A breeze blew strands of Iruka’s hair into his face and he tucked it back behind his ear, pulling his jacket a little tighter around his shoulders. The air was fresh and cold, not unpleasantly so, but enough that he no longer felt sleepy.

Gai turned to face him and beckoned him closer. He looked strangely nervous, but Iruka couldn’t guess what he was about to say or do. They’d come up to the rooftop before sometimes last summer on pleasant evenings to sit on folding chairs and sip cool drinks, a reprieve from the stuffy apartment, but it was hardly the most scenic spot in the village.

“You’re very important to me, Iruka,” Gai said. “I’ve wanted to share this with you for a while now. I hope you’ll accept the strength of my feelings for you.”

“Gai, what…?”

But then Gai raised his hands and pressed his palms together and Iruka knew what. He swallowed hard, his heart suddenly pounding, and his own chakra fluttered and tingled up and down his arms as Gai carefully opened his hands.

In his cupped palms, Gai cradled a cluster of tiny white flowers, each one a long, closed bud. Under Iruka’s gaze, the petals slowly unfurled into star-shaped flowers, and Iruka caught their sweet, fragrant scent.

“Night blooming jasmine,” Gai said softly. “I wanted you to see them properly, under the night sky. They only bloom in the dark.”

Iruka couldn’t take his eyes off them. He had longed for this moment with a strength that became clear to him only now. Gai was giving him something indescribably precious, even if he was only allowed to look.

“They’re like little shooting stars,” Iruka breathed. “I’ve never heard of a night blooming shinobi before.”

“It’s rare,” Gai agreed, curling a finger to stroke one of the flowers. “And I’ve been told it doesn’t suit me. It clashes with my sunny disposition.”

Iruka jerked his gaze up to Gai’s face, outraged that anyone would say such a thing.

“I hope you told that person to go take a hike off the Hokage Mountain,” he said fiercely. “They’re beautiful, and you’re beautiful, and I’m so honoured that you would show them to me.”

Gai smiled, as if he’d known that Iruka would defend him. As well he should! Whoever had made that remark must have seen the flowers, was perhaps an ex-lover. Iruka bristled at the thought of anyone making a comment like that, ill-intentioned or not, after being given such a gift.

“I would like to do more than show them to you,” Gai said. He held out his hands towards Iruka. “I would like to give them to you.”

All the breath was knocked out of Iruka’s lungs. He hadn’t expected this – had hoped for it, maybe, in the small hours of the night sometimes when Gai was sleeping at his side – but hadn’t thought it would happen for a long time yet. He knew he was hesitating when he should be saying something, reacting somehow, but Gai didn’t retract his hands. Merely waited with a nervous patience.

“You don’t have to return the gesture,” Gai said. “I love you unconditionally, Iruka. I had planned to offer you my heart in a more romantic way, but…” He shrugged and smiled. “I believe in listening to my feelings, and they were very strong tonight. Sometimes the moment is right when you least expect it.”

Iruka slowly reached out and touched one finger to the petals of a flower. It was soft but not as fragile as it looked. He could feel Gai’s chakra thrumming through them, forming them. They were made purely from his essence, and, when plucked, would still be a part of him: one that Iruka could keep at his side, always in bloom.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

Gai nodded. “I wouldn’t give them away to just anyone,” he said seriously. “I can’t imagine ever loving another person the way I love you. No one else would take care of them the way you will.”

Iruka hoped he could live up to that. He carefully slid his hands to the base of the flower, where it was connected to Gai through a stem that was part solid matter and part pure chakra, fading smoothly into the skin of his palms. Iruka had never done this before, was worried he was going to do it wrong, but when he gave a small, experimental tug, the flowers came free easily. Gai drew in a breath, and then took back his hands, flexing his fingers.

“Did it hurt?” Iruka asked anxiously.

“No,” Gai said. He looked from his hands to Iruka’s, which were now cupping the jasmine very carefully. “They belong with you. Nothing could feel more right.”

Iruka couldn’t take his eyes off the flowers filling his hands. He had never been entrusted with anything more precious, and he was full of equal parts terror and awe. He could still feel Gai’s chakra pulsing through them, connected to him spiritually if not physically.

“Gai, I…” He didn’t know what to say. How did you respond to something like this? Were there words that could encapsulate everything he was feeling right now? The chakra in his own palms was singing, but his hands were too full of Gai’s flowers for his own to sprout. “Thank you. I’ll treasure them always.”

It wasn’t enough, wasn’t nearly enough, but words were inadequate. Iruka closed the distance between them, the jasmine cupped safely against his chest, and kissed Gai softly on the lips. He couldn’t say in words how much this moment meant to him, but he could show it. There was more than one way to say I love you.

  


* * *

  


Later, when they were curled up in bed together, naked and with the sweat still cooling on their skin, Iruka looked over at the jasmine sitting on his bedside table. It didn’t need earth or light or water like a regular plant, and he had placed it in a shallow, decorative bowl and covered it with a small barrier seal to keep it safe. The effect was like a glass dome, although the flowers didn’t like being near the lamp, as dim as it was, and had turned away from it. He’d have to find a better home for them soon, but for now he wanted them as close as possible.

He turned back to Gai, who was half sitting up against the pillows, and rested his head against his shoulder, fitting snugly into his side.

“You never finished marking your papers,” Gai said, threading his fingers through Iruka’s hair and stroking gently.

“The kids will have to deal with getting their grades back next week,” Iruka said. “This was more important.”

He was still overwhelmed at how his evening had turned out, but not as dazed by the shock of it anymore. The more he thought about it, the more natural it seemed that their relationship had reached this stage. Sure, it had only been a year, but on the other hand it had been _a whole year_ and the spark hadn’t dimmed at all. If anything, it had grown stronger now they were comfortable together. Iruka felt that by now he had seen most of Gai – his flaws and weaknesses as well as his strengths and virtues – and he hadn’t yet found a part of him he couldn’t love.

And really, when he thought about it, wasn’t accepting Gai’s flowers the same thing as accepting that their relationship was here to stay? He wouldn’t have taken them if he’d thought he’d ever have to give them back. There was a reason why the exchange of heart flowers was traditionally seen as an engagement. It was a symbol of a lifelong commitment, more binding than promises or marriage. That kind of love could be one-sided, of course, but this wasn’t one-sided. Iruka knew exactly what he wanted, what his flowers had been telling him by blooming brighter than ever this year.

“Hey, Gai?”

Gai hummed in response, and Iruka sat up a little straighter and brought his hands together. His chakra sparked, and he felt Gai’s fingers fall still in his hair, but all his attention was on the wisteria bursting from his palms, long fronds of it that spilt between his fingers like water and hung down to brush against Gai’s chest. It was the first time anyone had ever touched them, and even the gentle touch of flowers on skin was like a jolt of electricity. It reminded him of the first time they’d had sex, being touched intimately by someone new, or of the first time Gai had told him he loved him. But he’d experienced both those things with other partners in the past. This sensation was entirely new, something he’d never shared with anyone except Gai.

Gai lifted a hand, hesitated with his fingers inches from the petals.

“May I?”

“Take them,” Iruka blurted out. “I want you to have them.”

Gai threaded his fingers very carefully through the strands of flowers, sending warm tingles through Iruka’s chest. He didn’t feel it the same way he felt Gai’s touch on his skin, but there was a definite sensation, more emotional than physical. His eyes fluttered closed, the better to immerse himself in it, and when he opened them again he saw Gai watching him closely.

“Are you sure, Iruka?” he asked softly. “I don’t want you to feel obligated. I’ll wait for you for as long as you need.”

And he would, Iruka knew that. If he couldn’t return Gai’s gesture straight away, Gai wouldn’t be angry or upset. He would respect Iruka’s feelings, would never try to rush them or influence them. And that was why Iruka knew he could trust Gai with this part of him.

“I’m sure,” he said. “I think I’ve been sure for a while now. They don’t usually bloom this… _much_.”

So many strands of wisteria were hanging from his palms that he could feel the extra weight of them. It was almost embarrassingly excessive.

“Seriously, you should pluck them before you end up with a whole tree,” he added.

Gai laughed. “I wouldn’t mind,” he said. “I think it’s beautiful.”

He cupped his hands over Iruka’s, taking the weight of the blossoms, and then gently tugged. It felt – _strange_. Not unpleasant, but there was a sudden emptiness in a place where there’d always been a something before.

No, not an emptiness. Iruka could still feel something, but at a distance. There was a warmth in his chest, and as Gai lifted the flowers up to smell them, Iruka realised it was Gai he could feel. That touch of his skin against the flowers, that closeness he’d experienced for the first time only moments ago was still there. Would he always feel that way now? As though Gai was close to him even when they were apart? Only time would tell, but he hoped so.

“Iruka,” Gai said softly. “This means more to me than I could ever tell you.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Iruka said. He glanced at Gai’s jasmine, the tiny stars forming a constellation in the bowl. “I already know.”

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday, Kalira! I hope you enjoyed this shameless romantic fluff and I didn't do anything with your au that made you wince ;) 
> 
> Gai's night blooming jasmine and Iruka's wisteria:


End file.
